


Selkie

by JaguarMirror



Series: Glass Bead Universe [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:48:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25763185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaguarMirror/pseuds/JaguarMirror
Summary: Flynn Fairwind is adrift; useless in the big city of Stormwind.  But the king has an idea that just might work to both their benefits.(I am *terrible* with summaries!)
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw (implied)
Series: Glass Bead Universe [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916869
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	Selkie

**Author's Note:**

> The court etiquette is based on standard modern protocol for the British courts. It's the kind of thing that would give Flynn the heebie-jeebies.
> 
> Wrote this all in one sitting, actually.

_Protocol is there for his protection and for yours._

Castles were alien to Flynn Fairwind; corridors and caverns of heavy stone that seemed to swallow sound and time itself. One of the books written by the Explorers' League explained that this particular pale gray stone was actually the remains of an ancient sea bed that had been turned into stone and was older than the Titans. The book also claimed that if you licked the stone you can detect just the barest taste of salt. He eyed the wall nearest him and decided against that -- for the moment, anyway.

The air felt heavy and ominous as if a storm was coming. Old Alan Goyle would have called it 'witching weather' and mumbled a charm against sirens and selkies. There were no sirens or selkies lurking in the corners of Stormwind Keep, but a pair of ghost-pale Dranei swept past him like tall masted schooners, leaving him in their wake. 

_Be early._

The Great Clock was striking three o’clock. The guards who stood beside the heavy oak door nodded and pushed it open. "Captain Fairwind," one of them announced, her voice echoing down the long dim halls. The Chamberlain checked Flynn's name off his list and waved him forward into a room that was almost the size of the house that he and Shaw shared; a room lined with more books than he'd ever seen in any library in Boralus.

The High King of the Alliance stood at a marble-topped desk near the tall windows, framed by light, dwarfed by the dark wooden bookcases. He looked very different than the man who sat on the Lion Throne. Instead of the ridiculously large lion-patterned armor that almost hid his face, he wore a simple white shirt and loose gray pants. A deep blue coat with gold buttons was draped over the back of his chair. His face, in profile, looked like one of the marble heroes that stood guard over the valley; serene and immoveable, and Flynn wondered if Anduin Wrynn ever really smiled these days.

_He's only twenty and in the wrong light he looks like he's twelve. Don't let that fool you. He's the High King and he outranks everyone in the Alliance. Never forget that. Stand at the doorway and don't move forward in the room and don't speak until he says your name._

"Captain Fairwind."

_When he acknowledges you, move into the room and bow. Not too low, not too high. A deep nod, incline the shoulders forward just a touch. Address him as Your Highness first and "sir" after that. Stay six feet away from him unless you are invited closer. Don't speak until you are spoken to._

“Your Highness.” Enter and bow. Step forward. So far, so good. Flynn tried not to stare hungrily at the books and to focus instead on the man in front of him. 

He’d only ever seen Anduin Wrynn from a distance; a blue armored figure with bright golden hair, standing aboard the Wind’s Redemption in Boralus Harbor or sitting on the Lion Throne in Stormwind Keep. Seen close up, the young king was handsome, with bright gold hair shading to the color of harvest wheat, blue-gray eyes the color of winter skies, and the pale skin of someone who spent most of their life in a cave of stone and never heard the soft song of the sea.

A man who currently had several books on his desk about legends of Kul Tiras.

_Don’t ask trivial questions._

There were a thousand questions he wanted to ask this boy-man, but the High King turned away and waved a hand toward a nearby chair. “Sit, please, Captain Fairwind. I need some advice.” His voice was gentle, soft. “Would you like something to drink? Honeymint tea?”

 _If he offers you something to eat or drink, accept. Wait until he drinks before you take a sip. When he sets his cup down, set yours down._

He nodded nervously, then added “Yes, your Highness.” Should he get up and pour? No, the king was actually pouring the tea. Shaw had spent hours drilling every fine point of etiquette into his head and somehow missed what to do if the king pours you something to drink. 

He took the proffered cup with nerveless hands.

This game of manners and kings was no life for a Boralus street rat turned ship captain. On a boat, things were simple. You knew where you stood – usually in the center of the boat, keeping things balanced. He wanted desperately to lighten the mood, to make a ridiculous comment, to suddenly sprawl in the chair like a wanton, kicking his leg over the arm as he told this boy-man a really funny story about the time that he and Shaw tackled a golem of gold. He’d like to see that calm mask erased with a good, hearty laugh; change the cold, ominous air of the room into something more lively and friendly.

Anduin perched on the edge of his desk, and rubbed his temples as if his head was pounding. “I need some advice. I’ve listened all morning to advice from my ship captains and commanders and they all think I’m out of my mind. I need something more… creative.”

Flynn managed a cautious, “Sir?”

Anduin looked up with a sigh. “Light bless you. How many hours have you been practicing all this…. protocol?” 

“Sir?”

He sat up then, smiling faintly. “Shaw must have threatened you with something truly horrible. Relax, Captain. You’ve been perfect. Everyone at the party will be fascinated by the charming pirate captain with the lovely manners. High marks. Now stop it. And quit sitting there like you’ve got a stick strapped to your backbone.”

“Sir?” The conversation was in uncharted waters now, and he was half sure there’d be sharks around.

“I need honesty now, and a quick mind and a wild imagination; not some hidebound protocol-lumbered sailor. I’ve had those all morning. Tell me that story about how you smuggled a siren aboard the Wind’s Redemption and locked it in the main cabin.”

“Err…..”

The smile grew just a little broader. “I overheard Wyrmbane, who – mind you – has never actually used foul language in my presence, turn the air blue when he was telling Shaw about that, and Shaw swore that he buried the details in the deepest and darkest basement of SI:7. And everyone else swore that nothing of the sort ever happened.”

Some of the tightness in his jaw eased. Protocol was hard, but stories were easy. He nodded and gave a little smile and took a quick drink. “Okay. The siren. Well, some of your Champions heard a report that a ship went aground and they went to check it out. They found all of us stuck in a nest of sirens, dazed with song. Four or five of your Champions sailed right in and made short work of the school, and that was fine. But when we got back to the land, they started telling some wild tales about how we were dozy for a week… along with some other stuff. We didn’t like it much. I figured one good siren deserved another, if you catch my drift. So I waited till we all got to Boralus, nipped over to the cheesemaker, bought up Kristin’s cheese for that day and smuggled her aboard. Set out the smelliest samples in the Champions’ room and got some cloth and seaweed and set us up a siren. Kristin really did look – and smell -- convincing in that rig. Voice like a drunk seagull, but singing wasn’t part of the deal. Champions opened the door and saw their worst nightmare. The paladin damn near trampled the priest in his rush to get out of the range of that song.”

The façade cracked and Anduin Wrynn laughed as he picked up his coat. “Ah, Light. I needed something silly like that. Come on… I’ve got a ship to show you and I need some ideas on what to do with her.” 

He led the way upstairs, trailed by the ever-efficient Royal Guards, and onto the stone floor of the royal gryphon roost. The burly Grand Gryphons stared at Flynn as they passed with the same sort of dyspeptic expression as Taelia’s Galeheart. Anduin pointed toward a pair of smaller gryphons, saddled and bridled, that waited at the end of the walkway. “We’ll take the Wildhammer gryphons instead of the Grands. Father always liked those big brutes, but I think they always look like they’re about to start a street brawl with an ettin."

“Taelia… Fordragon. She’s got one, and she’s a right sturdy bird suitable for us Kul Tirians.”

“They’ve both got their good points. The Grands are heavy and can even take down an elekk. Wildhammer birds are lighter and faster and more maneuverable. If something happens, the guards want me out of the way, so I ride one of these charming birds and everyone’s happy.” He fished an onyx-colored medallion from his pocket and slipped it around his neck. A faint aura shimmered around him; he’d seen the same kind of protection effect around the Champions. No stone was left unturned when it came to protecting the High King of the Alliance. 

There was a sudden pattering of claws and a “Skrk” near their knees. Flynn looked down to see a scruffy gryphon chick trotting beside them. It eyed him suspiciously and then squeaked imperiously began marching in front of them, tail high and ears up.

Anduin chuckled. “I don’t know if you’ve ever owned cats, but gryphon chicks have some very feline traits. That’s Stormstout. She thinks it’s her duty to escort me when I come up here.” He bent down to rub the little feathery ears and then gathered the reins of a silvery-gray gryphon and swung into the saddle. There was a thunder of wings around him as the guards’ gryphons took flight and began slowly circling around them as Flynn settled uneasily into the saddle of his mount. Anduin shook the reins lightly and their own gryphons stretched their wide white pinions and winged upward into the afternoon sky. He pointed to a dark dot hovering near the mountains and shouted. “There it is, Fairwind. The Selkie.” 

A gust of wind slapped at them and Flynn's mount dipped a wing, angling its belly toward the wind. His stomach lurched, but the gryphon righted itself with a flap and angled back toward the king's mount. They were closer now and he could see the lines of the ship better; Horde made, and ugly as a walrus bottom.

Anduin seemed excited about it. “It’s one of those light multi-man crafts that the goblins had. The crew got careless and everyone except the helmsman left to get something on the island. Three of the Champions spotted it, booted the helmsman overboard, and took it as a prize. They towed it home as a prize.”

“Homely thing. Hard to tell much about her at this angle,” he shouted back.

“I’ve been trying to get the commanders interested in finding a crew for her and repairing her, but everyone either wants to fly the big warships or wants individual craft, not a small five-man boat like this one. I don’t want to scrap her, so she just sits here.” 

They landed on the main deck and Flynn looked around as Anduin persuaded the gryphons to lie down on the deck. 

“Why did you call her the Selkie?”

“Oh. It’s after the legends. The version I heard said that the seal people come out of the sea and people can steal their coats and force the selkie to marry them. As long as the human hides the coat, the selkie has to stay on land. But if they find their coats, the selkies go back to the sea. This one looks like it’s a real boat that got modified into an airship after some bad hull damage… or so I’m told. So like that selkie, she’s had the sea taken away from her.” He shrugged and smiled slightly. “Call it a fancy.”

Flynn set his hands on the wheel, and then turned to the nearby consoles and gears and pushed something to see what it would do. A spar twitched and then fell back into place. Another lever sent a spark to the heater and started inflating the large balloon that hung overhead. “Kind of a strange design. Neither balloon nor zeppelin nor boat. I can see why the Captains wouldn’t want to take her on.” Another lever started up a propeller and he quickly shut that one off, then went below decks to take a closer look.

“What do you think?”

“Hard to tell what might need repairs, but any mariner can learn to steer her, I think.” He tapped on one of the rods. “She looks like she was cobbled together quickly. The linkages here won’t hold much longer.” He pointed to the offending piece.

“Can that be fixed?”

“Depends on what you have in mind.”

Anduin leaned against the bulkhead. “I see her as something like the Wildhammer gryphons. We’ve got heavy gunships that we use and we’ve got tiny individual personnel ships. What we don’t have is something in between that can do a variety of quick tasks like get a small team to a location and back out again quickly and without any fuss. Right now, if Shaw wants to get a group of four to six agents somewhere, we send a flock of gryphons or individual flight units, which leaves us with a problem of where to put the planes and gryphons until they’re needed again. We can’t take a big ship, because that’s too obvious. The Horde’s got the right idea, but I’m dealing with a lot of hidebound people who feel they can do better and so they turn up their nose at poor Selkie.”

“I wouldn’t have taken a king for the sentimental sort.” It came out before he actually could stop himself.

“Oh yes. Lost causes, little runty gryphon chicks, ugly abandoned air ships. I’m the patron deity of hopeless things.”

Flynn leaned over the rail and stared down at the landscape below. He and this poor battered ship were much the same; alien creatures who had given their hearts and their skins to this land --selkies of the sea, but neither of them could pull their skins back around them and go home to the oceans that gave them life. He needed Mathias like the gull needs the air; like the whales needed the silent paths of the deep oceans. In Boralus the relationship would have been easy, but here in this huge capital city of stone and wood, there wasn’t much room for sea Captain Flynn. But maybe the selkie could take on wings and become a bird. Maybe the sky would be enough if the sea was beyond his reach.

Anduin Wrynn, patron of lost causes, stood near the bow and stroked the ears of his gryphon.

Flynn Fairwind leaned against the railing, smiled, and spoke the words that usually made Mathias Shaw’s blood run cold. “You know, I’ve got an idea…”


End file.
